The Best Moments in Life
by RaisedOnRadio
Summary: We do not remember days, we remember moments. - Cesare Pavese [complete one shot collection]
1. Traces

**Traces**

09-21-15 Monday: prompt "Children"

Summary: In all honesty, the orphanage did not look much different from the last time he was there.

Word Count: 2178

Thank you for stopping by to my contribution of 'Angst Week'. The angst genre is difficult to categorize since every person reacts to sorrow/pain differently. So I'm certainly not going to attempt to make you cry; I'm just going to follow where the characters and prompts lead me!

…

* * *

...

Oliver Davis was in a rented car in the middle of nowhere.

He was not driving. He had been doing enough of that this past week since there was no airport within a reasonable distance. He was simply sitting in the parked car in front of a large brick building.

He wondered what had led Martin and Luella to this place in particular.

He got out of the car, and was still standing next to it when someone came out of the building.

The man was around his age and built like a boxer – heavyset but not fat.

"Are you lost, sir?" the man asked Oliver.

Oliver shook his head. "I lived here as a child for a period."

"Have you come back to reminisce?"

"Does that happen often?"

"Depends on how sentimental the person is and the era they lived here originally. The longer ago, the less likely they'll come back," the man said. He offered a hand. "I'm Rob, one of the house parents here."

"Oliver," he said, and shook Rob's hand. Oliver wasn't sentimental, so why was he here? "Do you mind if I look around?"

"Be our guest. Most of the kids are in school right now. When were you last here?"

"Almost twenty years ago," Oliver said.

Rob looked him up and down with a slow nod. "Then you'll notice some things have changed. Most of the kids live in the cottages out back. The main building here is for recreational and meals. No kids are housed there."

"I noticed it's not called an orphanage anymore," Oliver said. The sign had said _Green County Children's Home_.

"That happened around fifteen years ago. It gives us more leeway with what children we take in. Plus, no one wants to be associated with the title of orphanage. It still brings to mind _Oliver Twist_." As soon as the words were out of Rob's mouth, he was apologizing. "I'm sorry; you've probably heard that joke a lot."

"Surprisingly, not really," Oliver said. "When we were in the orphanage, we had initials."

They should have been old enough to have known their names. Oliver was not quite sure what had happened. Eugene had believed they had decided to forget them when they had shed their old life, and the initials become an interim until Martin and Luella came into their lives.

They entered the building and ceased the uncomfortable conversation. Oliver remembered the large oak door with the small brass cross in the middle. The floors were polished hardwood, and the foyer had a large line of cubby holes along one wall, presumably for shoes and any small belongings the children brought in with them. Each nook had a name above it. When they had lived there, there were no name plates. The children had come and gone too quickly for that.

The foyer had originally been a small office and greeting area for guests, and had a window that had a good view of the road that Eugene had liked to sit by even though it was the one room the children had been told not to spend time in. Oliver knew that Eugene had been punished for being in there many times, and yet he had continued to do it.

The foyer opened into the cafeteria, which was still its current use. The mismatched tables, from elegant wood dinner tables to retro green Formica were the same. The Formica was always the table the twins would sit at. The chairs were uncomfortable which meant nobody tried to sit next to them, which was a plus because meals were the place that you could easily get pulled into a fight. The adults who watched over meals were the harshest in doling out reprimands. Not surprisingly, this often included complete clean up of the tables, which should have been the supervisor's job, not the child.

Oliver rested a hand on the table. There was almost two decades of other children's memories piled on, so he didn't sense his or Gene's presence. The memories generally held a pleasant hum, a far cry from the meals he remembered.

The playroom was next, and Oliver wondered what had really changed in the place. The only thing he could not remember was the long wood tables. There had been something more rickety before. Otherwise, the bookshelf was still in the same place. In Oliver's time, there had been history and art books that someone had donated. They were meant for the older residents, but the younger ones still had access to them until someone found a female nude painting in one of the art books. Then all the interesting books had been moved to the top shelf, except for the one art book that Eugene had snuck into their room and hid under the bed. He knew it had always been Oliver's first choice.

The bookshelf had quickly been restocked with titled like _Children's Bible Stories_ and _Best Bible Verses for Children_ , and, of course, many worn copies of the Bible.

Even with this proper instruction, it didn't stop Eugene from deciding he had absolutely no interest in religious studies after leaving the orphanage.

Rob hovered in the doorway. Oliver had a feeling that duty said not to leave a stranger wandering around, even if he had been one of the children originally. There was no telling what kind of propaganda Oliver might leave on the shelves.

The staircase with its worn banister was at the end of the room. Oliver looked at Rob for permission.

"The rooms up there are mainly storage now," Rob said. "Which floor did you live on?"

"The third floor," Oliver said, which normally would be called the attic.

"You're welcome to it."

The staircase had framed photos lining the wall. Oliver was half way up before he found one that held Eugene and his image. They stood side by side. Many children surrounded them, yet there seemed to be a space around them, their own physical barrier. Neither of them was smiling. Eugene had done that on purpose to further frustrate the photographer that had been trying, in vain, to make Oliver smile.

They had had their knuckles rapped with a ruler for that one.

Behind him, Rob said, "So are you the silent one, or the outgoing one?"

Oliver turned away from the photo. "Pardon?"

"I've finally matched your face. You probably don't remember me, I was pretty quiet, but everyone in the orphanage knew of you two."

Oliver looked at him and tried to find features that he would remember. "I was the quiet one." He maybe, vaguely, could remember a Rob. He just had not given other people the light of day. It was easy to admit he was still like that.

"All the children thought there was something strange about you two," Rob said. "It wasn't until I was much older that Alex told me of some of the experiences he had when the twins were living here."

The emphasis that he put on _the twins_ made Oliver smile slightly. Alex had been the only tolerable director, and unfortunately, he had often been overruled in the way he wanted to run the place. "Is Alex still around?" Oliver asked.

"He's semi-retired. He's fast approaching house-grandfather status. He held a special place for you two. It was pretty rare for any of the kids who left to write to him."

"Eugene wrote to Alex?"

"You sound surprised," Rob said. "It was probably just a child's whim, of course. He eventually stopped when he was in his mid teens, I think."

Oliver found his hand on the edge of the picture frame before him. "Alex wouldn't happen…to have those letters?"

For Luella and Martin, he reminded himself. Always for Luella and Martin.

"Most likely. He's a packrat. That's why it wasn't hard to fill the upper levels for storage. Any time he came across something about a former resident…it's easier now, with the internet, but back then it was difficult to come across information, especially overseas. I know he had a few articles about you."

Soon Rob was leading the way up, and Oliver had to follow. They completely passed the second floor to arrive at the third. The hallway was littered with boxes. Each bedroom door was closed.

Rob led Oliver to the third door down. It was the twin's old room - there was a chance that Alex had done it on purpose.

The door opened with a drawn out creak, and allowed light into a space that had not seen it in awhile. Cobwebs adorned the corners; dust swirled off of the floor from the disturbance and resettled onto the boxes.

Oliver's fingertips brushed the doorjamb and he saw the room through the eyes of his six-year-old self. Though everything was well used, it was clean, and bright, with two beds at the far end and two small dressers on the side. A little desk was by the door.

Eugene shoved him in as he announced, "Quit stalling. I want to see."

The old woman behind them caught Eugene's shirt collar and pulled him back. "Be polite and quiet, child," she said, her smoker's voice harsh on the ears.

Oliver blinked when Rob flipped the light switch.

"Did anyone else use this room?" Oliver asked.

"No," Rob said, shifting aside boxes and checking their labels. "Everyone thought it was haunted." He looked up, inquiry in his eyes.

Oliver shook his head. "It wasn't haunted." Eugene could see the dead, but they didn't follow him around. Oliver had only been haunted by specters of his own creation.

Rob made a sound of approval as he cleared off the top two boxes in a stack of three, and slid the bottom one forward. He opened it and found a stack of papers and postmarked envelopes. They were yellowed and musty. "This room leaks sometimes," Rob said in disapproval.

"I remember."

"Well, have at it. Kids will be getting off of school soon, so I have to go. No one will bother you up here."

Oliver nodded his thanks as he picked up the envelope on the top of the pile. The postmark would have put them at ten years old. The one below it was around age fourteen. It looked like someone had scooped the papers up in a careless manner and shoved them into the box.

He opened the age-fourteen one.

 _Hello Alex,_

 _I write to you at the eve of my fourteenth birthday, where I find myself reminiscing about the past. My life is perfect to today's standards. It's every orphan's dream to be adopted by a wealthy couple and never worry again. But here I am, worrying, what did I do to deserve this life? I would bring in the concept of past lives but I know you don't believe in them…and surprisingly, Mrs. Clark could not beat the thought out of me when I was in the orphanage. Mr. Nelson couldn't stop me from talking to the air in the graveyard behind the church, no matter how many time-outs in the corner he put me in. Miss Jordan could not get me to memorize a single line of the bible, no matter how many times she made me stay late and write sentences on the chalkboard. Of course, you know as I've said before, I'm not blaming you. You were the only bright spot in all the adults of the orphanage. It's just I know I carry the scars from not only that time period in my life, but the blank space before that. What really worries me is that Noll carries all of that and the histories of all the other orphans in his heart. It doesn't leave room for anything else. Every piece of pain they lived through he shared in, and they didn't have any idea. So now he lives through the capabilities of his mind and immerses himself in studies. I want him to open up and live but I can't fix him. No one can but himself, and that leaves me in an endless loop…_

Oliver did not read the words as much as hear them, as he saw Gene write them down, his face so serious. The paper slipped from Oliver's fingers.

"God damn it," Oliver murmured, rubbing his temple.

"Oliver Davis?"

Oliver started. A much older version of Alex stood in the doorway. Though, Oliver realized, the man must have been in his mid-thirties when he had known him. Alex's hair had gone salt-and-pepper, and he wore glasses instead of the contacts he had preferred in his youth. He was still of wiry build, and his smile was bright and easy.

"Rob said we had a visitor, but look at you. I can hardly recognize you from that little child that I sent over the ocean. Did your brother – Eugene – come with you?"

Oliver could no longer hold control over his expression, and Alex recoiled.

"Is he…did he…?" Alex's words were incoherent as he pieced the facts together.

"He was sixteen."


	2. Broken

**Broken**

09-22-15 Tuesday: prompt "Blood"

Summary: His twin used to mend people after Oliver shattered them, but that was not an option anymore.

Word count: 1075

* * *

…

Oliver was in Oarai, almost ready to return to Tokyo after another useless search. Oliver had been in Japan for two months and he now knew that while Japan was not large, nobody had any reason to document every lake and large water source in the country. If anyone ever cared to do so, he would have some comprehensive information to offer them.

Lin would be waiting at the train station wondering where the hell his charge was, and how he had exactly allowed Oliver to separate from him.

Oliver was passing a section of small shops. The sidewalk was not crowded but enough people were using it, so he bumped shoulders with a young man of slight build and dark eyes.

At that moment of physical proximity with a complete stranger, Oliver murmured to him, "You have blood on your hands."

Oliver could feel the eyes locked on his back as he continued on his original route.

Unfortunately for the stranger, it was not an accident. Oliver had been given a missing persons report on him a week before. Shibuya Psychic Research had barely been opened before reports and requests started crossing his desk again. Though it felt like a weak excuse, he had his own problems he was currently fixated on. But this recent report had intrigued him, because he could feel the man, who was a little older than him, was still alive.

But that didn't mean the man still wished he was.

Oliver stopped at a corner and sat on a step which led to a back door of a store. It was currently closed, so he stretched a leg out and crossed his arms, with every limb clad in mourning black. His skin was too pale and he watched from beneath a fringe of black hair. He knew he met expectations of a romanticized image of an angel of death, and sometimes it was to his advantage.

With the missing persons report, a small token had been slipped into the envelope. It was a shard of glass, worn around the edges so no sharp edges remained. It looked like it had been painstakingly hand ground against a rough surface. The person who had made the request had known what he would require.

The contact with the token caused him to see through the eyes of the young man, as he entered a decrepit house. Shouts and cries could be heard in the kitchen. A trash basket sitting in a corner had started to overflow with discarded beer cans and cheap liquor bottles. The strength of resolve as the young man picked up an empty table sake bottle and smashed it again the doorframe was unsettling. He entered the room, where an older man held a young girl roughly by her forearm, shaking her as he shouted with his free hand raised. He looked up as Oliver – no, the young man – entered the room. Recognition was in the older man's face, which was soon replaced with hate. His face warped into a snarl as he released the girl and lunged towards the young man. Though it was easy to say that the drunk had fallen onto the broken glass the young man was holding, Oliver knew that the young man had not hesitated to bury the sharp edges of the bottle into the man's stomach. He twisted it for good measure. The girl was screaming into his ear, _"What have you done?"_

He looked at his hands, and saw red blood dripping from them.

The young man appeared in front of him.

"Are you a bounty hunter?" he asked.

"No," Oliver said. "People pay me to find people, not catch them."

The man raised both hands, palms up. They were calloused from good, honest work, the wrists strong. They were – at least physically – clean. "Explain."

"Your father died two weeks ago. They haven't caught the person responsible."

"Are you accusing me? I don't associate with my father more than necessary."

"Just quit the act," Oliver said softly. "I'm far beyond just accusation. I know what happened."

"Did she tell you?"

"Your sister? She didn't tell the police, why would she tell me?" Oliver shook his head. He didn't know if the movement was reassurance for the man before him or the sinister humor that pervaded his occupation sometimes.

"No. I saw it." He put up a hand before the man could open his mouth again. "No, I wasn't there. I can find missing people because I can see things normal people can't. You thrust a broken off bottle into your drunk father's stomach. His blood was all over your hands and your sister's screaming in your ear of 'What have you done?' as he fell caused you to run."

The man has gone paper white.

"He was beating her again," he said, his voice low and weak. "Like he used to do to our mother."

"No conditions are justified for murder," Oliver said. He stood up, and the man backed away from him as if he had leprosy.

"What do you want?" the man asked. "Why would you butt your nose into our lives? So we're broken, isn't everyone in some way?"

"Of course," Oliver said. "I'd be more than happy for people to leave me alone. But they still ask for my help, and I can't escape the requests after I've seen the scenes they have put themselves through. Your sister had said your father was in a bar fight in the official report. You two know the truth."

"And you."

"But I'm not going to say anything. I don't care what you do. All I was asked by her was to confirm if you were alive or dead and I've done so. Cops don't trust me, so I have no reason to trust them. So I just leave you with the thought that your sister has lost a father and brother in one moment. It shouldn't be just your choice that she never sees you again."

The resolve was gone. The young man sunk into the seat that Oliver had vacated, and stared at his hands, looking for what Oliver had seen.

If he had been Eugene, he would have sat down next to the young man, and had asked more questions. Talked him through it. Told him to come up with reasons to live.

But he was not Eugene, so he continued on alone to the train station.

* * *

…

Note: I completely borrowed the back story from the music video _'I Need U'_ by BTS. It's a fanfiction within a fanfiction…


	3. Scattered

**Scattered**

09-23-15 Wednesday: prompt "I could never…"

Summary: He was like the little pile of spilled tea leaves she had pushed under the table.

Word Count: 1150

* * *

…

Oliver held a book under one arm. He could not remember the title, but he had decided he was going to need it for the trip.

Mai passed by the doorway, and jumped when she saw him standing in the room that was formerly his study. His desk was cleared, a rare sight. There were gaps in the bookshelves, and some of the books had tipped over. Oliver did not bother to right them.

"I didn't know you were here," she said.

She wore faded blue jeans and a pale pink t-shirt. The worn-out clothes matched the fatigue in her face. Her hair was pulled back in a small ponytail.

She gestured to the book under his arm. "I'm not going to burn them, you know."

"Only because your lawyer said that would be unwise."

Her lips thinned. He had always been able to make her lash out with a single sentence. When she had stopped outwardly reacting to his jabs, he should have been worried.

But in reality, all he thought was that she had put up with him far longer than he expected.

She had been his wife for seven years.

She was now his ex-wife of five days.

"I had expected the boys to be home," he said. Noboru was six years old and Katashi was three.

"They're at Ayako's place," she said. "Please don't just show up unannounced like this. They are too young to understand. They keep asking me when you're coming home. It's stressful for them."

 _And for you, I assume_ , Oliver thought, but did not say.

Mai desperately loved her children. Oliver cared for his children, but he found that he kept them at an arm's width, just as he did to everyone else.

As cracks in their relationship began to show, she had used the love for her children to patch the holes, until there was no more room left for Oliver. He was certain she had taken the leftover feelings for him and scattered them to the wind, like confetti – or ashes. Then she had filed for divorce.

"Now that everything is finalized," he said, "I'm going back to England."

"Oliver, I wasn't telling you to get out of their lives."

"I'm not abandoning them," he said, not meeting her eyes as he selected another book off of the shelf. He could not remember the last time she called him Naru. "You know Luella has been sick. I need to visit her."

"For how long?"

"A few months." _A few years, at the most._

He added, "Don't worry, the child care payments will keep coming."

She could not stop the small gasp that escaped her lips. "I don't want your money."

"Then you were not clear with your lawyer in that aspect." Oliver turned to her. "Don't be foolish. It's for the kids, not you."

He handed her his key. Mai took it, tightening her fist around the small piece of metal until her knuckles showed white.

"The kids don't want your money either," she said. "They want you. That desire isn't going to last, you know."

"I know." He smiled slightly. "Your desire for me didn't last long, after all."

Mai's eyes went wide, and she attempted to blink away the tears that threatened to fall as she left for the kitchen. He could hear water running, which barely muffled her sobs. He selected another book, and ended up putting them all back on the shelf.

Oliver went into the hallway, and stopped at the open door of the boys' shared room. The apartment had a spare bedroom as well, which meant that the family of three would probably not grow out of the place. Unless, of course, Mai remarried.

The light was off, except for the small nightlight in the corner because both boys were scared of the dark. He did not turn on the switch because he knew the room by heart. The two small beds, side by side. Noboru liked cars and trucks of all shapes and sizes. He had models lined up on his shelf and a crate of matchbox-sized ones under his bed. Katashi love animals, as the large pile of plush toys on his bed indicated. He wanted a pet rodent. Preferably a squirrel, but a rat or hamster would do.

Oliver turned away and continued down the hall.

Mai was sitting at the little table, her small hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She had spilled dry tea leaves on the floor. They were pushed into a little pile under the table, out of sight, out of mind. Like her former husband.

Her head was bowed, as if she could forecast their futures in the dark liquid's reflection. She jerked up.

"Did you want some tea?" she asked.

Oliver shook his head.

She looked at his empty hands. "Where are your books?"

"I've decided I'll just pay to have the rest of my things put in storage."

She nodded and dropped her gaze again. "All right."

It had been a cold, distant divorce. They each had a good lawyer and everything had been divided up equally, including the children.

Oliver just did not know what had been the breaking point, what he had done to tip her over the edge. He had thought Mai had found someone who would treat her as she deserved. He had expected her to seem happier if that was the case.

His pride dictated Oliver would never ask.

"I guess," Mai said softly, "I could never have thought it would end like this."

The front door suddenly opened, and two little boys ran in, small backpacks over their shoulders. They both gasped and squealed simultaneously, as they dropped their things and wrapped their arms around Oliver's legs. Noboru's hair was black, and Katashi's was slightly lighter like his mother's. It was easy to assume they would be handsome when they were adults.

Ayako came in after them, dressed down – at least, for her – in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. She looked Oliver up and down with a slight curl to her lip. It had never been in question which side she would take.

The boys turned to Mai, wringing her hands as they chattered about their day. Her smile was bright and authentic.

"Go take your things to your room, now," she said. "You can't leave everything scattered on the floor, someone might trip."

Their heads bobbed up and down and they gathered their things. Noboru said to race, and he took off, with Katashi in a scramble to follow.

Oliver watched Mai's face fall instantly.

There was no reason why he was still there. He gave a brisk nod to Ayako, and walked out the door.

Two blocks away from the apartment, he pulled the car over to the curb. He leaned back, and covered his eyes with a hand.

He would just need a moment.


	4. Stained

**Stained**

09-24-15 Thursday: prompt "In the rain"

Summary: It was hard to keep her thoughts bright when the sun hid behind the clouds.

Word Count: 743

* * *

…

Mai woke up hopeful for a bright sky and found it looked like rain again.

The weather forecast had lied. Well, they had simply been wrong, but Mai felt lied to.

She did not have anything planned, so later that day she found herself wandering around a commercial district in Tokyo, not wanting to spend money and not wanting to be home alone.

She blended in with the people in the streets.

…

Mai found she was staring at the heavy clouds again and dropped her gaze to watch a man cross the street. He was young, dark haired and handsome, and her eyes clung to his form like a child searching for a four-leaf clover in a field.

He passed by without a glance in her direction.

She had allowed herself to stare openly because she had known there was no possible way it was Naru. After all, he was in England. Plus, it was barely two weeks after Eugene's funeral. An empty feeling washed over her at the thought.

She should not expect magic.

It started to rain and umbrellas came up around her. She had left hers at home, so when she turned a corner and was no longer being protected by the throng, she had to step under an awning to wait. The rain took that as a challenge and picked up its pace as it cascaded down the awning and created puddles on the sidewalk. Her surroundings became dim and gray, colors smearing together like a poorly done watercolor painting.

Mai saw her reflection in one of the puddles. She looked miserable and confused, which seemed to be her main emotions since they had found Eugene's body. Or rather, since she had confessed to Naru and had it thrown back in her face.

No, that was too harsh. All he had really done was set the confession gently into her palm, and tell her she must be mistaken. _It was all right, most people were._

Was she?

She saw the shop owner glare at her through the window because she had blocked up his doorway, so she stepped out. The rain pattered against her face, a rhythm that had become her background music lately. Her blue skirt had gone limp, her blouse was borderline immodest.

It was too bad, she thought, that she was too young to drink legally. It was a simple, age old concept of washing away problems. She wanted to rinse away the memories of him. Let them flow away until her mind was clear again, but it seemed like the tide kept bringing them back to her.

She should go home, but instead she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and took her phone out to call him.

Hesitation stilled her hand, as the rain pattered onto the phone. She did not want to be compared to an abandoned cat who would rub on the legs of someone who had already told her no.

Mai lowered it back into her pocket, and realized people were just flowing around her without concern. Her shoes, originally white, were now wet and dingy, as if the rain had wanted its existence to be known, and to linger upon her so she would remember its presence.

Mai wondered if she had engraved her existence upon Naru, or was she just someone who came and went like a rain shower?

A thunderclap shook the ground, and the sidewalks emptied as the pedestrians went for cover. Mai moved aside, but only a little.

She wondered how she had allowed all of this to happen. Maybe she should have thanked him, for teaching her what this feeling was, and how sometimes you still didn't get what you wanted even when you wished so hard.

She hoped she would just drown.

A few moments later when the rain started clear, Mai took a deep, shuddering breath of the fresh scent of rain. Since the first time that she had fallen for him, she felt clean. A few breaks in the clouds could be seen. She started for home, for real this time, and thought that maybe she would be able to sleep tonight.

…

However, the ache returned as the rain knocked on the window that night. She burrowed into her blankets as it asked to be let in. Her tears left her feeling stained and empty, and no matter how much she wanted to fade away, sleep would not come.

* * *

…

Written with the lyrics for the following songs in mind: _I am the Rain_ by SID, _Clean_ by Taylor Swift, and _Rain_ by BTS.


	5. Moments

**Moments**

09-25-15 Friday: prompt "Terminal"

Summary: If only Eugene could secure his reality as easily as sinking the ball into the net.

Word Count: 1165

* * *

…

The chain net clinked as the ball – finally – fell through. It bounced back to Eugene and he caught it. Basketball was one of those sports that could be played alone without looking foolish. The only opponent needed was the stationary giant holding the hoop still.

He was in the small park close to the building that Martin's lab was in. The half court was run down, with cracks in the pavement and tufts of grass struggling within them. There was no boundary fence, which meant good luck if the ball was thrown too hard, and if the net had not been made out of chain link it might have rotted away without any notice ages ago.

Since nobody noticed him – a recently turned fourteen-year-old boy in dark wash jeans, a white tee shirt, and matching sneakers – he claimed ownership of the court, a playground for the awkward age of not yet a man but no longer a child.

Eugene was not interested in playing professionally. He knew that he didn't have the skill for that, or any sport, for that matter. He could clear the hoop more than once and a while and dribble the ball proficiently, and that was enough for him.

Instead, the sport was like meditation to Gene. He focused on three things: the flow of his breath, the movement of the ball, and the rim of the hoop. As he threw the ball, he was tossing away accumulated thoughts and worries that had built up since his last visit.

Today, the rim felt further away, or it was possible life had dragged him down to a smaller size. Amidst his labored breathing, sighs of irritation could be heard when the ball bounced against the rim again and landed at his feet. The hoop didn't care how much confidence he pretended to have in the real world: here, he was only judged if he could secure the ball into the net.

If only he could secure his reality as easily.

He was a perfect medium, and oh, what a profession to be caught up in. Some worshiped you if you could tell them, _yes, your mother really did love you_. And others scoffed and made you feel ten inches tall as they asked if you intended on getting a real job when you grow up.

Was it normal to be worried about not being noticed in the grand design of things at only fourteen?

The sun had started to nestle itself in between the houses lining the west side of the court. He wasn't ready for the dark to arrive. Some people could hide their real selves better in the night, but it made Eugene feel more exposed. The ball hit the ground in time with the beat of his pounding feet as he ran to the opposite side of the court.

As he moved faster, in his mind's eye another opponent entered the court: the future. Though there was no one there, he spun away and fled, with the ball bouncing in front of him. He laughed out loud, a war cry against bleakness of his thoughts. What in the world did he have to worry about? There were people who dreamed to be in his shoes. They tried to fit him into their standard of success because they would never reach what he had achieved already. His emotion lifted, and the moment stretched until he hoped it would last forever.

In reality, Eugene worried too much about the well being of other people. His brother came to mind. Eugene thought he was too young to worry about what he wanted to do as an adult, but Oliver had already chosen. Why did Oliver push himself so hard? What did he hope to gain?

Oliver was not just pushing the boundaries of his mind by attempting to finish school early. He was also working his body with what he could handle with his PK – and it never ended well unless Eugene was there to balance him.

Yesterday Eugene wasn't there, and Oliver almost went to the hospital.

What would Oliver do if Eugene was actually gone? Would he ever gain control over his abilities?

Just that easily, fear gained control over Eugene again and spread through him like a terminal disease.

The ball went astray, and Eugene dove to put into back into line. His body had not intended on changing direction. He tripped over his own feet and as he went down, he attempted to duck and roll.

"God damn it!"

He found himself on his back, any remaining breath wasted from swearing. His hands and elbow stung.

The moment had snapped. Maybe he would just stay on the ground for awhile.

"For someone who doesn't believe in a God, you take his name in vain enough."

Eugene sat up with a wince. Oliver sat on one of the benches on the sidelines. He wore a gray jacket but his arms were still crossed against the chill that had crept in. Eugene did not know how long he was there, and for a psychic, that was just plain embarrassing.

"You're supposed to be in bed," Eugene said.

"I feel better. Madoka dropped me off on her way to the lab."

Eugene peered at his brother, and realized that it wasn't his fault that he had not noticed Oliver's presence – Oliver's mind was locked up tight.

"Did you break anything?" Oliver asked.

"You still look pale."

"You're avoiding the question."

Eugene tapped his temple and stood up. "You would know the answer if you were not hiding from me."

"I'm fine, all right?"

Eugene located the ball, which had rolled away into the grass. He carried it over and sat down next to his twin.

"You scare me," Eugene finally said, "when you collapse like that."

"You weren't there," Oliver said.

"That doesn't mean I didn't feel it."

"You can't protect me forever, Gene."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

""You should focus on yourself," Oliver said. "Give me a break for a moment."

"But at this moment, I'm generally happy." Eugene leaned back on his arms. "Are you happy?"

"If I say yes, will you drop the subject?"

It had gotten dark. Martin was going to come looking for them soon. There were no lights on the court, but a streetlight went on across the street. The city hummed in the background.

Eugene let Oliver off the hook and dropped the subject. He couldn't trust a straight answer when their mental door was shut, anyway.

They entered into a period of silence. Eugene looked over at Oliver, who had his eyes closed. A faint night breeze ruffled his hair and put some color into his cheeks again, though it could just be a trick of the poor light.

 _This exact moment would never come again,_ Eugene thought. So he had to ask himself again: _Am I happy now?_

He had barely finished the thought before the answer came: _I am._

* * *

…

Based on the lyrics of _'The Best Moment in Life'_ , intro to the EP of the same name by BTS.

I know I say this so often but it never hurts to repeat it: Thank you so much for your favorites and comments. Every time a reader takes the time to say in one way or another, ' _I read your work_ ,' it fills my heart and you all are the reason why I continue writing for this fandom.


End file.
